Home

The place you once called home feels like a prison now. The walls and iron gates are built with love and good intentions. Why these come out as if you're twelve years old and riding your bike on the first day of school, you'll never know. It must be this parenting thing. Will you do the same when you've got grown up children that lead their lives in a way you don't seem to comprehend, doing things you are almost fully unaware of? Will you, like your mother, be irritated by someone and work it out on someone else?
When you hide behind your book, the irritation hits you. Like a cranky teenager you wish to yell at the world, to demand everyone to leave you in peace. You almost cry in the end, but hell who wouldn't cry when reading Order of the Phoenix.